The Very Hungry Nematode
by DadMom AngryPants
Summary: When Spongebob comes down with a nasty case of the Suds, Squidward reluctantly takes him under his wing.   Disclaimer: This story isn't actually about a hungry nematode.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It was moments like this that Spongebob Squarepants wondered why he'd chosen a foghorn-based alarm clock. Each blast seemed to rip right through him, tearing at his eardrums and causing him to shout out in pain and surprise. His right hand fumbled desperately for the off-button.

*Click*

…

The silence was almost as deafening to him as the blaring alarm had been; it seemed to whine on and on, ringing in his ears and making his head spin. And speaking of his head, that hurt too. In fact, he noted, everything hurt. A dull ache gripped his body. Had he been beaten up during the night? Sure he was a heavy sleeper, but he didn't think he would have slept through _that_. The sponge slowly cracked his eyes open, then winced, immediately squeezing them shut again, using his hands to help block out the light. The world was too bright this morning, the colours too vivid – which was unusual, since Spongebob normally lived for bright and vivid.

"Something isn't right," he thought, "But I have to get up and feed Gary."

Gary agreed.

* * *

Squidward Tentacles was an introvert. Among the many things he couldn't stand was noise. Noise startled him, and with Squidward, "startled" nearly always led to "angry".

Up until now, the day had been unusually quiet, and therefore Squidward had been enjoying it. He didn't question the absence of giggling, or screaming, or reef blowers, or bubbles shaped like elephants that inexplicably made elephant noises when popped, because he didn't _care_. Why ruin the moment of peace by questioning the lack of noise? From a second-story window of his Tiki head home, he exhaled deeply, a rare smile playing on his lips, and admired the quiet, quiet world.

"Mau!"

The mostly quiet world.

"Maaaaauuu!"

The … kind of noisy world ...

"MAAAAUUU! MAAAAAUUUUUUU!"

"All right, that's it!" Squidward balled his tentacles, his usual frown now firmly back in place, "I'm going to give that Spongebob a piece of my mind!"

He left his own home and began to walk purposefully toward the pineapple next door, shoulders rigid, chuntering angrily under his breath the whole time.

"Yowling snails at all hours of the day … who does he think he is? … no respect for other people's sanity …"

He pounded on the door. "Spongebob!"

No answer. This only riled the squid more. "Spongebob, open up!"

In between his own yells, Squidward noticed that the yowling had stopped. Instead he could hear a new, quieter, stranger sound that he couldn't identify. A kind of ripping, crunching sound, as if somebody was chewing up the sofa. End of tether reached, Squidward flung the door open. Gary, Spongebob's pet sea snail, was chewing up the sofa. Curiously, the sponge himself was nowhere to be seen. Squidward shrugged, making a mental note to yell at the his neighbour later, whenever he got back from wherever he was. But just as he was turning to leave, one tentacle resting on the door handle, he heard yet another strange noise. This one came from the kitchen, and sounded like a cross between a wheeze and a hiccup.

"Spongebob?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Like all sentient beings (aquatic or otherwise), Squidward was curious. Though he often reassured himself that he wanted nothing to do with Spongebob's escapades, the fact was he couldn't help but peek in on the poriferan's bizarre world every now and then, with a kind of detached scientific interest. He likened it to picking at a scab: although painful and somewhat disgusting, it was also strangely satisfying at the same time. And so he peered around the kitchen door, finding the silence unnerving and half expecting Spongebob to leap out of nowhere and latch onto his face. It wouldn't be the first time.

But for once, Spongebob neither leapt nor latched. He was sat partly underneath the surfboard that served as his kitchen counter top, skinny arms hugging equally skinny knees to his chest. He was shivering, which was hardly surprising, thought Squidward, since he was only wearing his underwear and a single sock. Swollen eyelids hung heavily over his sore, bloodshot eyes; he didn't even seem to notice that Squidward had entered the room or, perhaps more importantly, that Gary was eating the sofa.

"Spongebob, what are you doing?"

The sponge looked up, confusion fluttering across his tired face. "Feeding Gary."

The plastic food dish lay a few feet away. It was empty. Squidward cocked an eyebrow and tried to put the pieces together. Was this the aftermath of an ice-cream bender? A sundae hangover? It was common knowledge that Spongebob couldn't handle his frozen dairy treats.

This theory was impugned when the sponge in question suddenly sneezed, pink bubbles shooting from every pore; ice-cream hangovers didn't cause sneezing. Squidward recoiled in disgust, batting at a bubble that had settled on his nose.

"What's wrong with you?" he snapped, "Swallowed a bottle of bubble soap?"

"I think I got the suds," was Spongebob's small, sad reply.

He could feel himself getting angry again. He didn't want to feel sorry for Spongebob. He didn't want to be involved. He felt like he'd been tricked into signing a contract, and there was no backing out. It was while Squidward was desperately searching for a loophole in his conscience that Spongebob began to weave back and forth, before the colour drained from his face and he fell forward in a dead faint.

"Great. Just great."

* * *

"Hey! Come on, wake up! I haven't got all day, you know, _I've_ got a _life_."

The scene slowly swam into focus, but didn't make much sense. Squidward's blankets? Squidward's sofa? Squidward's house?

"Am I dead?" Spongebob wondered.

Squidward's head suddenly popped into view, looking irritated as ever.

"Oh, sure. You're dead. Welcome to the all-you-can-eat seafood buffet in the sky!" That his voice dripped with sarcasm was lost on the literal sponge, whose eyes widened in panic. Squidward sighed. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt; Spongebob had only been awake for seven seconds and he'd already snapped at him. "I was joking, Sponge. Okay?" He pressed a cool tentacle to Spongebob's burning forehead, quietly instructing him to lie still.

If Spongebob was confused before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

"Squidward, is this a game?"

"What?"

"Are we playing Opposite Day?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're being nice to me and I didn't even give you any money."

"Look," Squidward briefly put his head in his hands, then straightened up with a deep breath, as though preparing himself for what he was about to say, "Here's what's going to happen: I'm going to let you stay there until you're well enough to go home, and in return, you're going to stick to the following house rules. Ready?"

Spongebob nodded, smiling weakly for the first time that day.

"Rule number 1: No vomiting," Squidward began to pace back and forth, hands clasped behind his back like a drill sergeant, "Rule number 2: No giggling, Rule number 3: No buffoonery and/or tomfoolery, Rule number 4: No ..."

Finding the monotony of Squidward's rant rather soothing, Spongebob lapsed back into a deep sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"La-la-la-la-la! La-la-la-la-la!"

The water was clear and beautiful; a warm current swept between the sand dunes, rippling the kelp. Spongebob couldn't have asked for more perfect jellyfishing conditions. He leapt from peak to peak, jellyfishing net clutched in both hands, smiling broadly, timing his jumps carefully so that the ebb and flow of the water would work in his favour. Behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, his eyes were focused on his "prey" in the distance – a jellyfish of medium proportions, four stingers beating rhythmically, hypnotically, enticingly -

*Twack*

Spongebob didn't know what he had run into, but it caused him to fall backwards, losing grip of his net as he brought both hands up to his face in pain. He sat up, broken glasses falling to the ground in pieces as he slowly moved his hands away from his eyes. He gasped; the scene had changed.

"What is this place?" Spongebob got to his knees, hands pressed against what he now realised was a giant wall of glass. Instead of the sand he was used to, angular synthetic rocks lay beneath him. He turned around, still half expecting to see jellyfish fields and beyond that, his pineapple home, but instead he was met with a white wall, which was covered in writing.

_Many marine sponges host photosynthesizing organisms, most commonly cyanobacteria, but in some cases dinoflagellates. _

"Dear Neptune!" Spongebob's eyes widened in a combination of horror and confusion. A bright flash made him spin around to face the glass again. Huge, pink air-breathers squashed up against the tank, features distorted by the undulation of the water. Spongebob screamed, flattening himself against the wall in fear. Another flash blinded and disorientated him; he stumbled forward, arms outstretched …

Squidward was woken abruptly by an ear-splitting yell. He frantically leapt out of bed, heart pounding, thoughts of murderers and burglars and open-window maniacs running through his mind.

"Stop taking pictures of me!" came a further shout, "I'm photophobic!"

Then Squidward remembered about the sick sponge whom he'd allowed to temporarily take up residence on his sofa. Now, at 3am, with the boy's screeching assaulting his eardrums, this decision was looking to be an increasingly poor one. The panic left his body and was replaced with tiredness and irritation. He padded down the stairs, pulling a bath robe around his shoulders as he went.

Upon reaching the living room, he clicked a lamp on. Spongebob was writhing in his sleep, skinny yellow legs tangled up in the sheets, still shouting nonsense. His face was damp with sweat and flushed with fever.

"I don't have any dinoflagellates!"

"Hey!" Squidward put a tentacle on Spongebob's shoulder, shaking it insistently, "Wake up!" Blue eyes snapped open, full of fear. The yelling was replaced by whimpering, the writhing by trembling.

"Squidward?"

"Right. Now go to sleep and try to dream about something _quiet_," Squidward rubbed his forehead in exasperation and turned to leave the room, very much looking forward to getting back to his comfortable bed. Spongebob suddenly grabbed at him, clinging like a limpet.

"Oh, Squidward, it was terrible! I was jellyfishing but then I was at an aquarium and they were using me for educational purposes!"

"Spongebob!" Squidward staggered backwards in surprise, trying to pry the sponge away from him.

"I don't want you to go!" Spongebob was suddenly blubbering, head thrown back and tears streaming like water from a sprinkler system.

"Oh, grow up!" Squidward was becoming impatient with Spongebob's overly dramatic behaviour. It was bad enough that he had to deal with it during the daytime, but at 3am? Right now, he was supposed to be sleeping.

Spongebob hiccuped sadly.

Too tired to argue further, Squidward resigned himself to his fate and flopped down onto the sofa. He cleared his throat and, taking the hint, Spongebob detached himself from his neighbour and shuffled across to his own side, pulling the sheets around his shoulders. Squidward folded his arms moodily.

Several minutes passed in awkward silence, punctuated only by the occasional sneeze from Spongebob, and the popping of bubbles that followed.

"Squidward?"

"What is it _now_?"

"Will you read to me?" Spongebob seemed completely unembarrassed to be making this request, but then, he'd always been that way – blunt, honest, never one to beat around the bush. Squidward, on the other hand, blushed enough for both of them.

"What makes you think I want to read to you, of all people, at this time of night?"

"I can't sleep."

"Join the club." And then he realised that the sooner the yellow headache went to sleep, the sooner he could return to the comfort of his bed. "Alright, whatever." He picked a magazine off the coffee table, flicked through until an article caught his eye, and began to read aloud.

"In choosing your perfect table lamp, you must first decide what you want the lamp to do. Whether you want a relaxed or fun atmosphere or even a romantic atmosphere, you should select a lamp that reflects the emotions you are trying to convey. The design should also reflect your personality and give life to the personality of the room. For example, if you're creating a minimalist space, a traditional gold gilt lamp stand will probably look out of place."

"Squidward?"

Squidward was beginning to get sick of hearing his name.

"What?"

"Don't you have any _good_ books?"

Squidward reddened angrily at this (unintentional) quip about his taste in reading material.

"Like what, exactly?"

"Oh, I dunno … how about _The Very Hungry Nematode_?"

"No."

"_Tula the Tuneful Tuna_?"

"No."

"_The Ugly Barnacle_?"

"No."

"_The Ugly Barnacle 2: Revenge of the Ugly Barnacle_?"

"No!"

"Oh," Spongebob appeared disappointed, but quickly brightened up. "Then we'll just have to make up our own story."

"Spongebob, I don't want to -"

"I'll start: Once upon a time there was a happy little snail. Now it's your turn!"

"The happy little snail had a neighbour. The neighbour was tired and wished that the happy little snail would shut up and go to sleep." Squidward mumbled.

"One day the happy little snail went … went to the, er ..."

"... Bed store ..."

"Right. And … er ..."

"... Took some sedatives."

"The happy little snail wanted to buy a bed -"

"But he couldn't because he was a jobless happy little snail. The jobless happy little snail decided that his name was too long and from this point forward will simply be referred to as JHLS. JHLS decided to sit quietly for the rest of the day so as not to annoy his neighbour." Squidward paused, waiting for Spongebob's next contribution. When none came, he turned his head and saw that the sponge was, finally, snoring softly.

Squidward hoped he wasn't dreaming about dinoflagellates again.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Squidward was starting to get used to the bubbles, but there was something about them that confused him.

"Why pink?" he finally blurted out, using a copy of Interpretive Dance Quarterly to shield himself from the latest onslaught. It had been a particularly violent sneeze; Spongebob blinked in surprise, holding his head in an attempt to curb his dizziness. Tiny leftover bubbles leaked from his numerous pores. "Spongebob!"

"Uh?" Spongebob didn't turn around. Whatever was on the television had recaptured his attention.

"I said, why are they pink?"

"Who?"

"The bubbles!"

"Oh!" The tone of Spongebob's reply indicated that he, finally, understood the question. What followed, however, indicated that he didn't know the answer to it: "I don't know."

Squidward tucked the magazine under his right arm, picked up a cup of coffee in one hand and a glass of kelp juice in the other, and settled himself on what he had now come to think of as his side of the sofa. He certainly wasn't going to touch "Spongebob's side" in a hurry; just thinking about the germs was enough to make him feel queasy. He made a mental note to disinfect the cushions.

"Here," said Squidward, passing the glass to Spongebob, whose eyes were still fixed firmly on his favourite Saturday morning show, "Drink up."

He sipped at his own drink and let the magazine fall open in his lap, feeling inexplicably relaxed. The morning light was warm and streamed through the porthole windows, bathing the room in a subtle glow. On any other morning, the mere presence of Spongebob would put him in a foul mood that would linger for the rest of the day. But for some reason, this morning he was quite content to drink coffee, read about lavish costumes, ribbons and spandex body suits, half listening to the drone of the television in the background. Dare he say it, it was almost _nice _to share these early morning moments with somebody – even if that somebody was the usually obnoxious Spongebob.

As if on cue, the sponge suddenly gagged and spluttered, spraying kelp juice over everything within a two-foot radius. Squidward yelped and snatched up his magazine, dabbing ineffectually at the tiny specks which now adorned it. "Do you _mind_?"

"I'm sorry, Squidward! It's just -" Spongebob paused, shuddering. His face almost seemed to collapse in on itself. "This juice is a little … sour."

"If you don't like it, don't drink it!" Squidward replied hotly, reaching out to take the glass back, "Give it here."

"No!" Spongebob hugged the substandard beverage to his chest, not wanting to hurt his friend's feelings. "No … I'll drink it. It's probably just an acquired taste, right?" He smiled weakly up at the cephalopod, tired blue eyes full of appreciation. Squidward started to feel the pangs of sympathy all over again; even when he was sick, the little guy doted on him, desperately trying to please him, longing for his acceptance and ultimately, friendship. It was undeniably creepy. But a tiny part of him still felt guilty for all the times he'd slammed the door in his face, pushed him away, reduced him to tears.

"Squidward?" squeaked Spongebob somewhat nervously, noticing the change in his facial expression.

This was getting too awkward, not to mention highly out of character; Squidward broke eye contact, casting around for a change of subject.

"What are you watching, anyway?"

It was a good choice of question, met with much enthusiasm by the easily distracted poriferan, who jumped at the chance to rave about his favourite superheroes.

"Oh, this is a _great_ episode, Squid! Mermaid Man just got seen by the doctor, turns out those chest pains he was having were caused by high cholesterol and now he has to alter his diet to reduce it! But here's the twist – Mermaid Man doesn't like any of the recommended foods that are low in cholesterol. Isn't that funny?" He laughed hoarsely, meeting Squidward's eyes once again, willing him to share his joy. Irritating as it was, Squidward had to admit that he was glad to hear that laugh. That the sponge was so much more talkative today was surely a sign that the illness was lifting.

"Hilarious," he replied, forcing a smile.

Spongebob beamed up at him, before settling down to watch the rest of the show. He leaned contentedly against Squidward's arm, and for the first time since they'd met, Squidward didn't throw him out of the window for doing so. He didn't even get angry about it. No, what made him angry was when Spongebob, apparently forgetting how "sour" it was, took another slurp of his drink.

Before Squidward had time to open his mouth, it was doused with second-hand kelp juice.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sponge and octopus dozed lightly together as the day came to an end. The former leaned against the arm of the latter, face squashed, mouth hanging open as a result of his stuffy nose, a line of drool snaking down his chin. Nothing could spoil this beautiful, peaceful, tender, brotherly moment.

"SQUIDWAAAAARD!" The front door was smashed open with such force that Spongebob screamed in fright, leaping onto Squidward's shoulders and using his sizeable head to cower behind. A star-shaped silhouette stood ominously in the doorway, his shadow cast into the dark room from the weak light outside. "Spongebob hasn't been filling up my food bowl and I had to start eating his sofa so I came to borrow your - … Spongebob?"

The sea star stepped into the room, the panic in his voice replaced by hurt as he spotted his one-socked, underwear clad best friend balanced on the shoulders of his neighbour.

"I cannot believe what I am seeing!"

"Pat, this isn't what it looks like!"

"How could you ruin Squid's day without me? I'm your best friend!" Patrick dropped to his knees, sobbing. Spongebob watched sadly from his lofty position.

"You've got it all wrong, buddy! I'm not ruining his day!"

"No," quipped Squidward, from behind the sticky yellow hands that clung to his face, "You're ruining my weekend!"

"Yeah," Spongebob sniffled wetly, much to Squidward's disgust, "I caught the Suds, so Squid's letting me ruin his – I mean, sleep on his sofa … just 'til I get better."

Patrick got to his feet, a distant look in his eyes as his brain processed this information.

"The Suds?"

"That's right."

"Like that other time when Sandy made you go to the hospital, and they gave you the Sponge Treatment, and it made you better, and you got a lollipop?" Patrick recited this with a mixture of nostalgia and jealousy.

"Uh ..."

"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Squidward, peeling Spongebob's hands off his face, holding one stick-thin wrist in each tentacle, "This has happened before? Why didn't you tell me about this … sponge treatment?"

Spongebob blushed, ducking even further behind the cephalopod's head, red cheeks particularly noticeable in contrast to the rest of his pale, sickly face. Two buck teeth bit down nervously on his lower lip. "I, uh, didn't want to bother you."

"Didn't want to -?"

Spongebob cringed, the harsh tone of Squidward's voice an unpleasant divergence from the comforting, almost affable one he had grown accustomed to over the past few days.

"You've been living on my sofa, sneezing on my magazines, spitting kelp juice in my face -"

"Don't forget drooling on your shoulder," added Patrick, helpfully.

Squidward let go of Spongebob's wrists and began to walk purposefully towards the door. Spongebob instinctively wrapped his arms around Squidward's forehead again, to prevent himself toppling backwards.

"Where are we going, Squidward?"

"Where do you _think_?"

* * *

Spongebob couldn't help but grin as he walked home from the hospital with Patrick (Squidward was long gone; he had left, fuming, immediately after depositing Spongebob in the waiting room). His usual sunny yellow glow had returned and he felt full of energy; it was all he could do not to cry out with joy, but night had fallen and he didn't want to wake the whole of Bikini Bottom.

Between slurps of the lollipop that Spongebob had given him, Patrick posed a question. "I don't get it. I thought you liked the Sponge Treatment?"

"I do like the Sponge Treatment," explained Spongebob, "It's just ... I like Squidward more."

"So you kept the truth from him in order to take advantage of his uncharacteristic kindness and hospitality?"

Spongebob smiled guiltily.

* * *

Back at the pineapple, Gary gnawed feverishly at the bathtub.


End file.
